The Last Night
by ShunKickShunKers
Summary: AU Teen, no powers. Natasha's going though a rough path. She just wants to say goodbye to her best friend before ending it. faint Clintasha


**Here's an old one-shot inspired from 'The Last Night' of Skillet. It was also posted on ao3 a while ago.**

 **WARNING: attempt suicide and cutting. AU Teen fic. (yeah, I wasn't in a good mood when I wrote it back then...) **

**Unbeta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine ^^**

* * *

 **The Last Night**

 _tap tap tap._

The pencil hit the table in a regular rhythm. She observed the motion for a few moments.

" _...difficulties to concentrate, and a passive-aggressive behavior that prevents normal contact with your peers…"_

The psychiatrist kept talking and she turned her attention back to the pencil. The way the tip hit the desk -not exactly the tip, not exactly the middle, but someplace in-between and always the same- interested her more that the incessant babble of the woman sitting in the couch across the room.

"Natasha, are you listening to me?"

The teenager raised her guarded emerald eyes and met the blue analyzing ones of Dr Hill. The woman was staring at her with a mixture of impatience and annoyance. She returned her attention to the now immobile pencil.

"Yes ma'am," she muttered.

Hill sighed and leaned back in his chair.

A month ago, Natasha Romanoff's uncle had come to her to scheduling a dozen appointments for his niece. According to him and the hidden scars on her wrists, she had been cutting herself and refused to talk about her problems.

The moment the man hadn't been able to tell when it had started or why, she had felt this particular case would not be easy. Who knew how long the redhead had hidden that little habit of hers? And she belonged to the quiet ones, those who hardly opened-up, especially when outsiders pressed them to. At the time Hill hadn't been worried; she had dealt with those kinds of teenagers before; she knew various ways to approach patients and make them talk around the second or third session.

This was their fifth and they were still going nowhere. No matter what she tried, the sixteen year old kept her cards close to her chest.

"Natasha, your uncle sent you to me in order to help you. Now I need you to be a little more cooperative…"

"You're just biding your time!" She spitted, suddenly angry. "I'm fine! I don't need help!"

Dr Hill stared at her straight in the eye and attacked:

"You cut your wrist too deep. Your cousin found you unconscious in a puddle of blood. You had to go to the hospital."

"I went too far that time" Natasha replied, narrowing her eyes, but Hill still caught her hands clenching –probably in guilt she presumed- at the mention of her younger cousin, Yolanda. According to the uncle, the younger girl had been a mess afterwards. "Look, if I really wanted to die, I would have cut it the right way and I would be buried and…"

"There is no 'right' or 'wrong' way Natasha. By opening your veins, you…"

 _tap tap tap_

The pencil hit the desk. The teenager's eyes followed the move once again, losing immediate interest in the woman's words. Then, she glanced discreetly on her watch. Five fifty. Ten minutes left.

"…leave this place for a while and meet new people. You can start anew Natasha, but you need to be more…"

"Cooperative, I know," she cut abruptly and straightened her position in her seat. "Are we done now?"

Hill sighed in annoyance and, knowing the teenager would not pay more attention, nodded.

"I will see you next week," she said when the redhead picked up her bag.

Natasha didn't reply and walked out the room without looking back.

"That was our last session doctor." She muttered once the door was closed. Another glance at her watch and she hurried towards the exit. She didn't want to be late.

 **TLN**

Clint glanced at the clock. Six fifteen pm. Next to him, a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder.

"What's wrong Clint?"

Bobbi Morse, his girlfriend of three months, kissed his temple and sat beside him on the couch. The young man sighed and glanced at his cell phone. The meeting was at six thirty. Even if he left now, he would be late...

"I got a text from Tasha this morning."

The smile on Bobbi's face vanished in seconds and was soon replaced by a frown.

"Natasha?" her soft tone had hardened. "What does she want this time?"

Clint held back the annoyed comment he wanted to snap at her -Bobbi never made it a secret she disliked his childhood friend, even though she had nothing to be jealous of- and replied calmly instead:

"She wanted me to meet her at some place tonight. To talk."

 _"Talk?"_ the young woman repeated with a snarl. "Yeah right. Remember how it ended last time she just wanted to 'talk' to you?"

 _You bet I remember_ , he thought grimly. She had barged in his apartment, basically blurted she wanted more than just a friendship with him and found out the hard way he was already taken. Bobbi had walked out of the corridor, wearing his T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Natasha had just stared at her blankly and after what had felt like forever, mumbled something and ran out the door. After that, she wouldn't reply to his texts, would ignore him at school, skip the classes they had together -in short avoid him at all costs. And now, after two months of complete silence, she was asking to meet with him out of the blue.

"You are not going, are you?"

Clint suddenly realized he hadn't answered his girlfriend yet and shrugged.

"I'm not sure I want to."

"Just don't." The young man stared at Bobbi, mildly surprised. Her tone had been harsh, authoritarian even, and the expression on her face informed him she was not pleased that he even _considered_ it. "Don't show up. She has to get over it Clint. She needs to understand you can't always be there for her, that you have other priorities in life."

"Bobbi, she's my best friend!" Clint protested. "I can't just let her down like she doesn't matter!"

"That girl is _nuts."_ Bobbi cut sharply. "Betty told me the principal caught her beating the crap out of Loki -you know Loki Oddinson, the nerd in Steve Rogers's class- behind the school and had the nurse drive him to the hospital. And after that she was nearly expelled from school because of drug dealing. Seriously, I know you two might have been close when you were kids, but you shouldn't hang out with her anymore."

The young man stared at her in disbelief. Natasha, beating a kid and dealing drugs? He didn't believe a word of it.

"You said you heard that from Betty?" he eventually asked. His girlfriend nodded firmly and he went on: "You do know Betty has a knack for spreading rumors because she craves the attention and hates Natasha's guts, right?"

Bobbi pursed her lips in discontent.

"Maybe they are just rumors, but I still don't like her. I don't know why you keep defending her in spite of what she's doing to you. You have always been the perfect friend for her and when you need her, she just drops out."

Clint felt a hint of annoyance rising within. True, Natasha had ignored his attempts at talking lately, but she had never let him down in the past. Whenever he needed a shoulder to cry on after his parent's death or Barney's departure, whenever he needed to vent, whenever he needed distraction from morbid thoughts, she would pop out of nowhere and stand by his side, whether he'd want it or not.

"I'm telling you honey, she's no good for you..."

The more Bobbi kept ranting about the reasons why he shouldn't go, the more Clint grew annoyed with his girlfriend. She didn't even know Natasha, she had barely met her and yet couldn't stop criticizing her.

"Somehow I understand why she turned out this way. I mean, look at her parents..."

The young man stood up and glared at her.

"Don't you put the blame on them," he hissed angrily. "She has nothing to do with…"

"They were spies and suspected of treason. The whole thing was kept quiet and covered up, but I know the truth." Bobbi retorted dryly, holding his glare. He didn't blink.

"And how would you know that?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Please, my dad worked with them and I took a look into their file. They were shady people Clint, and you know what they say; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"I don't know why I'm wasting my time with you," He snapped and pointed towards the front door. "Pick up your stuff and go back home. I don't want to see you anymore."

The young woman's jaw dropped low in disbelief.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"I think we need a little time on our own," he replied firmly. "I won't repeat it twice; pick up your stuff and get out!"

Bobbi didn't move from her spot. Her eyes narrowed at him and she spoke slowly:

"You're in love with her, aren't you."

Clint rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Jesus Bobbi, don't be stupid."

"Stupid?" she hissed, standing up in turn. "You talk about her all the time, you put her above everything and everyone else. You don't even _look_ at _me_ the way you look at _her_!" Before he could cut in, she added with a hint of anger: "Had you been single, would you have dated her when she confessed her feelings?"

"Bobbi, stop it." he urged her.

"You didn't answer my question, _Clint_."

They stood there, staring at each other like two fierce animals. The young man opened his mouth to answer, but no words would come out. He wanted to deny it, he desperately wanted to assure her he and Natasha were just best friends, nothing more. He just couldn't. Before his lack of answer, Bobbi snorted and shook her head.

"Who's the stupid one now?" she asked before picking up her coat and walking out of his apartment without giving him a second glance.

 **TLN**

The sunlight was slowly declining. Natasha scanned her surroundings one last time and checked her watch. Fifteen to seven. She closed her eyes and sighed; she should have expected it. She hadn't returned any of his calls or texts and had avoided him for the past two months…plus, Miss Little Perfect would make sure he didn't lower himself to meet her. And he was right, she thought; why chose the plain, deranged girl when he had a smart, beautiful, rich, well-mannered and _sane_ one loving him already?

"Natasha?"

The teenager didn't turn immediately. She first took a deep breath to calm the rise of adrenaline and only when her heartbeat had turned more stable, turned to face the newcomer.

"Hey Clint," she greeted with a weak smile.

Deep blue eyes stared back at her expressionlessly. She took advantage of the momentary silence to scan him top to bottom; his hair was as messy as ever, he wore the usual brown jacket and faded blue jeans that fit him so well. Back to his face, his eyes held now a hint of anger and worry. Natasha slipped her hands in her pocket and tightened her fists to keep her determination intact.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up." She eventually said. Clint pursed his lips.

"I almost didn't. Bobbi was mad, but your message sounded urgent."

"Sorry about that" she replied shrugging, indicating she was everything but sorry. "I'm sure you'll make it up to her somehow."

The young man smiled tightly, as if thinking of something amusing and bitter at the same time. Then, his expression turned serious:

"What do you want?"

Natasha stepped closer to him and managed to hold his gaze.

"I have three things to say, and I'd like you not to interrupt me." When he consented with a nod, she went on: "First, I'm sorry about…that incident. I didn't know you were dating someone, or I would have never told you I liked you. I hope you don't hate me for that."

She saw Clint's jaw tense. That conversation was the direct cause of the distance she had put between them and knew how much it upset him. They had been friends since kindergarten, had never hidden anything from the other and yet…

"I don't hate you Tasha." He murmured, using her childhood nickname. "I could never hate you." At his words, something clenched painfully inside her. He could never hate her, but he would never love her either. "I should have apologized for not realizing it earlier and…"

"Past is past Clint" she cut him, not wanting to hear excuses. "I just wanted to apologize before leaving, with no hard feelings left behind."

Clint raised a brow, caught off guard.

"You're leaving?"

"That's the second thing I wanted to say." Natasha replied, now avoiding his eyes. "Uncle Ivan sent me to that psychiatrist, Maria Hill. She thinks I need a new start, take some physical distance with this place."

The look of disbelief turned into worry.

"Don't tell me you've been cutting yourself again."

Natasha didn't finch and met his stare. The scars on her wrists started burning, as if summoned by his words.

"Of course not," she lied. "What do you think I am? Stupid?"

The young man scanned her thoroughly. Natasha felt, once again, that he was reading her very thoughts.

"Far from it" he eventually muttered. "But you are capable of many things when you are depressed." He didn't wait for her reply and added: "What's the third thing?"

Natasha stared intensely at the pavement and took a deep breath. Now or never.

"Actually it's more like a favor. You have the right to refuse," she added quickly. Clint nodded and waited. "Can you kiss me?"

Her voice was barely a whisper and she kept her face down on her shoes, suddenly afraid to meet his gaze.

"Ex -excuse me?" he babbled. This time, Natasha took another deep breath and stared at him straight in the eyes.

"Kiss me. Just like you'd kiss your girlfriend" –she couldn't name that girl- "Just pretend I'm her if you want. I will never ask for anything else…please just this once. Please."

Her lower lip trembled a little as he stared at her in astonishment. Her nails dug deep into her palm to help her keep her cool. _Please_ , she mentally begged him, _please just this once before I…_

Clint suddenly stepped closer, raised a hand to cup her cheek, leaned over her and closed the distance between their mouths.

Her lips melted into his warm ones and she closed her eyes as everything faded around her. He moved gently at first, then his hand slowly slipped behind her neck and he became more forceful. Natasha gasped at a sudden move and allowed his tongue entrance, her hands clenching his shirt for support. She gave as good as she got, and soon enough Clint slipped his free hand over her waist to pull her closer. They suddenly parted slightly to breathe.

The young woman was panting heavily, a little dazed with the recent event. And she smiled. This was exactly what she had wanted. But when the young man leaned to catch her lips, she pulled back and gently pushed his chest away.

"I only asked for one," she whispered at his confused expression. That, and she couldn't get greedy, especially not now. "Thanks."

He released her reluctantly and she took a step back, slipping her hands in her pockets again. No need to show him how much her hands were shaking. He would feel something was wrong and she couldn't risk him interfering with her plans.

"Natasha..." he started, but she cut him right away:

"I gotta go." A weak smile grew on her face. "Thanks again Hawkeye" Clint grunted at the childhood nickname. "And take care..." Natasha hesitated before added softly: "She's lucky to have you. Bye."

As she started walking away, the young man called after her again:

"Hey Tasha...it's not because you're leaving that we can't keep in touch right?"

She stopped in her tracks and glanced over her shoulder. There he was, standing beautifully in the light of the closest lamppost. And there she was, pitiful, standing in the mid-darkness. The teenager allowed herself one last longing look and forced a smile on her face.

"Of course, Clint. We'll keep in touch."

Although the answer seemed to relieve him, he didn't look quite satisfied. So before he decided to pursue a conversation with her and put her plans to fault, she waved at him and walked away.

 **TLN**

Her step was smooth, almost light and cheerful as she headed towards the empty warehouses. Usually, they were the dreamland of drug users and dealers, but since the last raid and frequent cop visitations, she knew the place would be deserted. She started humming a tune, forcefully chasing any negative thoughts out of her head and focusing on one thing: the blond who had kissed her, the one best friend she ever had...and the one man she _couldn't_ have; because he didn't love her the way she loved him. And that last kiss -she shivered at the thought of it- that last kiss had made her feel alive, more alive than the past weeks. So much more alive than when she felt the pain on her wrists after the cutting.

It had started four years ago when she lost her grandmother. The old woman had almost raised her because her parents had a busy job, and she felt like she had lost a part of herself. The cool blade against her skin, the light pain it produced had helped her feel better and worst at the same time. Until Clint noticed.

She remembered the panic on his features, his eyes widening in realization. He had urged her to stop and she did.

And then, six months ago, her parents died and she had been relegated to Ivan Pietrovitch, her mother's brother. Natasha knew her uncle viewed her as a burden, a good-for-nothing, messed-up kid and somewhere he was right. Natasha couldn't control herself, couldn't act other than hostile towards him. There had been arguments, screams and slaps and lonely hours locked in her room doing nothing but staring at her ceiling and going through pictures of her parents.

Only cutting had kept her...sane, focused. This time, Clint hadn't realized it right away. Her actions had hurt him in the past, so she had tried to hide it from him. But again, he had found out.

God knew how much he fought for her, bore her incessant crying and hysterics when he forced the truth out of her, how tight his grip had been when he had held her and promised her everything would be all right. During those moments, when she had clang to his T-shirt and sobbed for hours, she had realized her feelings for him ran deeper than mere friendship and for his sake only, she had stopped again.

But then, two months ago, when she had finally gathered the courage to tell him how much she cared, seeing that...girl in his clothes had been the last straw. And now she was back on that road again. And she couldn't, _wouldn't_ let him know.

Natasha arrived at the entrance of the tallest building and pushed the unlocked door open. A heavy scent of dust and urine caressed her face, but she ignored it. Instead, she climbed the stairs without hesitation. The room was filled with debris and stone, walls were cracking and falling apart. She reached the miraculously barely untouched roof and stared at the sinking sun. The bright light blinded her and she had to narrow her eyes to face it. The last rays painted the sky in a deep pink, orange and crimson mixture.

A weak smile grew on her face. How many times she and her parents had watched a sunset when she was a child? It usually held that sense of wonder, _of...magic._ Tonight though, it felt...different. Sadder, more _dramatic._ Death-like. As if the sun, the universe itself knew what she had in mind.

The ironical idea barely brushed her mind, but she couldn't help laughing at it. The sound of her voice resonated in the quiet environment and she laughed even louder. It felt good, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

And as fast as she had laughed, she sobered. A chilly wind blew over her skin, bringing her back to the present. She faced the sun again. A solemn sense of peace invaded her as she started walking towards the edge. She climbed on the border, stood still and glanced at the sky above her. The last lights of the sun were fading, yielding to a darker sky. A dark, velvet sky.

Natasha closed her eyes. The picture of Clint Barton came to her, smiling warmly at her. That was what she wanted to remember last. So she smiled, finally at peace, and without opening her eyes, took a step closer to the edge.

 **TLN**

 _"Of course, Clint. We'll keep in touch."_

The smile was there, but he knew better. He knew the dark edge in her eyes, the signs of upcoming breakdown. He had seen it too many times since her parents' death. Before he could call after her again though, Natasha waved at him dismissively and walked away. Leaving him behind.

Clint bit his lower lip. The taste of his best friend's lipstick had remained. He shut his eyes and breathed in and out deeply. When he had arrived, even forty-five minutes late and had seen her there, he knew he had been right to come. He hadn't expected the subject of conversation though. Nor her request. The young man swallowed hard. The moment his mouth had connected with hers...he realized Bobbi had been right. Had he been single, that day...

Clint glanced at his cell phone. Speak of the devil...Bobbi had called and left a voicemail. They should remain friends, she said. In other words, she didn't want to do anything with him anymore. Clint shrugged and put his cell back in his pocket. Fine with him. As much as he liked her, his now ex-girlfriend was starting to get on his nerves. As gentle and nice she could be, he hated that disdain and mocking tone she used sometimes; especially when she mentioned people he cared of.

Putting his cell back in place, he lifted his head and glanced in the direction he had last seen Natasha. Left street, Washington boulevard. Hum, funny. Shouldn't she have taken Ivy Street to head back home? The young man was tempted to let it slide and head back home, but a little voice in his head urged him to follow her. And so he did.

She wasn't going home. Ten minutes of tailing her, and Clint knew that was definitively not the way to her house. Actually, if his memory served him right, this was leading to the place his friends nicknamed the Graveyard. Most of the buildings there were falling apart and for a while, it had been the favorite hideout for beggars and questionable people. He kept following her nonetheless, wondering what she had in mind.

Much to his surprise, the Graveyard was indeed her destination. Clint paused outside the door she had gone through and watched her climb the stairs without hesitation. Why was she here? What was she looking for in the middle of those warehouses? And why was she heading up to the...

" _I just wanted to apologize before leaving... no hard feelings."_

His heart skipped a beat as a weird thought crossed his mind. A warning flashed in his mind as he recalled certain parts of their last conversation.

" _Uncle Ivan sent me to that psychiatrist, Maria Hill. She thinks I need a new start, take some physical distance with this place."_

She wouldn't do it, would she? She wasn't stupid enough to...but he had answered that one himself.

" _You are capable of many things when you are depressed."_

And it hit him. She was thinking about it. No, not thinking. She was...

He dropped a curse and entered behind her. Hurried up the stairs, rushed on the roof. At first, he didn't spot her. But then he saw that faint silhouette looking up at the sky, walking towards the edge of the building without hesitation. His whole body froze.

No way.

"Natasha!" he screamed and ran towards her. She had one foot in empty space when he finally grabbed her arm and threw her backwards. She hit the ground with a surprised 'uh?' stared up and blinked blankly at him.

"Clint?" Her voice didn't waver. "What are you doing here?"

Her lack of reaction made Clint shiver in dread. She almost sounded...annoyed. Unaware of the situation. Unaware or...uncaring? Numb in any case.

" _Are you out of your freaking mind_!" he shouted, angry and terrified at the same time. This was Natasha, his Natasha, and she had attempted suicide right in front of him. One second; had he been one second late...the young man chased the thoughts away, unwilling to picture the alternative. After a few minutes of staring, a light flickered in her eyes and she looked away.

"Why?"

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Why what?" he retorted dryly. Her eyes were deadly inexpressive, body relaxed, and it scared the shit out of him. Natasha was never so...calm. Unless she was extremely upset. Or in shock. And even then, he could pull a reaction out of her.

"Why did you stop me?"

The young man let his jaw fall.

"Why I stopped you?" he echoed in disbelief. "You really want me to answer tha-"

"I was finally going to be better!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "I was finally going to leave all that _shit_ behind me and no longer have to keep up appearances! I'm fucking tired Clint!" Her voice grew hysterical: "I'm done with Ivan, done with those people who pretend they want to help and don't give a fucking care! I'm done watching you and your perfect girlfriend make goo-goo eyes to each other, not going to swallow my pride and pretend everything is fine when all I want to do is _scream!"_

Ignoring the hand he was holding out, she stood on her feet and brushed the dirt off her sleeves. Then only, she glared at him.

" _Why don't you just let me die!_ "

Her words hit him harder than a slap in the face. He stared at her wordlessly, discovering another side of the girl he thought he knew better than herself.

"Do you still want to jump?" he asked her quietly.

She didn't look away when she nodded. Determined, empty eyes. Maybe she would be happier...Clint interrupted the thought before it ended. He had to make her give up, but how?

"You're sure about that?" he asked quietly. She nodded again stubbornly. "Why did you call me tonight to say goodbye? Didn't you want me to hold you back?" He saw her fists clench, relax, and clench again. Her mouth formed a thin line, sign he wouldn't get anything on that matter. So, feeling his options were running out, he used the last thing he could think of: "And what about me? Do you really think I'll be able to get over the death of my best friend?"

This time, she couldn't hold his gaze and looked away, back to the horizon. Night had almost completely fallen now, but there was enough light to see each others' face. The moment she set her eyes on him, he knew what she had in mind.

"I'm sorry Clint. I still can't."

She turned her back to him and ran.

"Natasha STOP IT!"

Perhaps it was fate, perhaps him calling her name did the trick. Whatever it was, Clint would always wonder; but her tidbit second of hesitation gave him the time he needed.

His hand caught her arm and for the second time that evening, he stood between her and the edge of the building. This time though, when she fell back on the concrete, he straddled her hips and pinned her arms on the ground.

"Let me go!" she protested, struggling under his weight.

" _Stop it_!" he yelled his face inches of hers. This time also had been too close, way too close. Had she not tripped...She held his stare defiantly and hissed angrily.

" _Let me go!"_

"God, what will make you stop trying to kill yourself once and for all!" His throat tightened. The fear, the dread he felt the moment he realized she was still going to try once he turned his back overwhelmed him and his voice chocked with sobs. "I beg you, _stop it_. Just come home with me; let's watch a stupid movie." Tears formed in his eyes. A drop fell on her cheek. "I promise I'll never leave you alone Tasha." His hand released a wrist and buried itself in her hair to keep her grounded. Smooth, silky red hair. "Come home with me." Her eyes were no longer blank, but still hard to read. "We can talk about it tomorrow, okay? I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. Just please stop..."

He kept on stroking her hair gently. Her lids shut and he felt her body relax. She swallowed slowly and opened her eyes again. This time, a single tear left the corner of her eyes and slid down her cheek. A huge weight lifted from Clint's shoulders. The dark glint had vanished and he knew he had won for the time being.

"Okay." she whispered softly, and that was all he needed.

 **TLN**

Rain was pouring when they eventually reached Clint's apartment and even the short distance between his car and the entrance of the building did not prevent them from being drenched. The ride back had been quiet, somehow awkward, but needed. The young man had needed those few minutes to get his mind together and apparently so did Natasha.

"Do you want to take a shower?" he asked after they passed the front door. Natasha's clothes were dropping abundantly and he could see the goosebumps forming on her skin. Although she was not shaking, the young woman needed warm clothes or she would definitively be sick in the morning.

"Sure," she muttered almost absentmindedly before glancing at him. "Uh...could I uh... borrow your clothes?"

The shyness of her tone almost made Clint smile. He brushed her shoulder and hinted her to walk forwards.

"Get cleaned up and I'll drop the change in front of the bathroom door. Remember where the clean towels are?"

Another time, she would have glared at him and demanded he stopped babying her. Here, she simply nodded and smiled weakly. The lack of backbone sent another chill down his spine and he remembered the empty gaze he had encountered barely half an hour earlier.

"If you need anything..."

"I'll call you," she replied with a soft smile, and added quietly: "Don't worry Clint; I won't do anything stupid in your own apartment."

Although he meant to hide it, relief immediately swept over him. He nodded thankfully and watched her walk to the bathroom. The moment the door shut, the young man headed towards the couch and let himself fall on it, uncaring of the damages his damp clothes could do to the fabric. He closed his eyes tightly. The tears he had repressed during the trip back came back full force and he couldn't hold them anymore.

Natasha had attempted suicide. Right in front of him. No matter what would happen next, he knew he would never forget that picture of her apologizing and then running towards the edge. He rubbed his face with one hand and sighed. Why had things turned so badly that she couldn't even come and ask for his help? He would have given her his support in a heartbeat. Didn't she trust him in spite of everything they've been through together?

BAM

The sound of something falling on the floor hard made him jump off the couch and rush towards the bathroom. _Please don't let it be what I think it is,_ he mentally prayed. _Please don't let it be..._

"Tasha?" he called, a little edgy. "Tasha you're okay?"

A painful moan was his response. He immediately tried to open the door. Locked, of course. The young man took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. She had promised she wouldn't attempt anything, right? So far, she had never broken her promises but she clearly wasn't in her right mind tonight.

 _Why don't you just let me die!_

"Tasha, if you don't open the door, I am going to break it!" he warned. When no answer came back, he took a few steps back and launched himself against the door. It resisted the first time, but broke on his second assault. When he stepped in, he froze at the sight of the naked girl lying on her side on the ground.

"Natasha!"

Clint crouched next to her and, ignoring her state of undress, checked for any signs of recent injuries. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of scars all over her forearms. She had definitively been cutting herself again. Their faint healing informed him she had not touched them for about a month though.

"What you think you're doing!"

The young woman unexpectedly pushed him back, reached for a towel and wrapped it tightly around her. Clint stared dumbly at her while she kept her eyes on the floor, cheeks turning into a faint pink.

"Why didn't you answer me?" he asked weakly. Had he not been terrified at the thought she might have attempted something under his watch, he would have laughed at the dark glare she shot him.

"I just slipped," she muttered, clenching at the towel. "It was just a clumsy move okay? I told you I wouldn't do anything."

But there was something more to it. He knew it when she still refused to look at him. So Clint reached for her face, caught her chin in his hand and lifted it, forcing her to face him. Her eyes were reddish and watering, but she didn't seem to notice. He kept staring at her insistently.

"My legs...they were shaking." she eventually caved. "I don't...I don't know why. Everything was fine and suddenly they started shaking." A long pause. "Did I really try to kill myself?" Clint barely heard her whisper. "I can't really...remember it."

She sounded like a little girl waking up from a long night. She had the same voice when she dreamt of her father. The young man slipped his hand in her hair and gently rubbed the back of her head as he felt her tremble again.

"Yeah" Clint eventually said when he realized she was waiting for an answer. "You scared the shit out of me."

Natasha rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. They remained in this position a little, the time it took her to relax completely.

"I think you can leave now." She said after a while. He raised a questioning brow at her. She gave him a little embarrassed smirk: "Unless you want to see me naked again."

Clint grinned back and when he returned to the couch, didn't feel the urge to check on her again. As if to reassure him, she took a very quick shower and was out fast. He offered a Lord of the Ring marathon and they settled in front of the TV, she leaning against him, head resting over his shoulder, legs folded under her, his arm carelessly thrown over her shoulder. They were in the middle of the second movie when Natasha felt the urge to talk.

"I had no idea they were spies."

"What?"

Clint's attention completely focused on her. She pushed away from him, needing her space.

"My parents. I didn't find out until they died, that they were spies. Their colleagues told Uncle Ivan they had turned, which was why they were killed. I overheard them one night."

Clint's lips thinned in annoyance, Bobbi might have been right then. He couldn't imagine the consequences on Natasha's mind, how heavy it must have weighted on her conscience.

"Uncle Ivan was furious." her voice had lowered into a whisper. "He thought I knew; let the feds talk to me and ask questions about them. Even when they stepped over lines, he wouldn't bulge. Just watch with disappointment in his eyes. I had to get out. Cutting was the only way."

And she fell back into silence. In spite of the dim light, Clint could see her shaking again. The light of the television reflected her glistering face, wet by silent tears again.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked quietly. The response took a few minutes to come.

"I hurt you enough. And you are happy with...with your girlfriend." She still couldn't pronounce _her_ name. "I didn't want to break..."

"You should know already that you are more important than Bobbi" he snapped, suddenly angry. At her family for turning a blind eye to her turmoil, at her for not trusting him to listen, and at him for not realizing her silence was a scream for help. "I thought we were friends!"

"Yeah, some friend I am" she shot back, raising from the couch. "Why do you keep trying to save me Clint? I'm not worth the effort."

"Will you stop doing that!" he snapped again, standing up in turn and staring at her intensely. "You're always lowering yourself! Of course you're worth every effort! I've known you since forever and there is no way I'd take back every moment we had!" He bit his lower lip when he saw her flinch. God, how long has this been going on? How long had the signs been there?

Natasha suddenly took a great interest in the carpet.

"I'm not going back there."

It took him a few minutes to realize she was talking about her house.

"So stay with me. I have enough room for two." She shook her head.

"No. You'll get tired of me, or Bobbi will find the right words to kick me out."

"Bobbi won't be an issue. I broke up with her."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"You did?" she sounded genuinely surprised. "When?"

"Right before I left to join you. She told me a few things I didn't appreciate and made me think. We're better off as friends." He hesitated, wondering if he should mention the allusion to his own feelings and decided against it. The teenager was still dealing with the recent events in her own way; he didn't need to add some more drama on her mind. So, he just repeated: "You are more important than her. Always will."

He took a step closer, caught her elbow gently and pulled her towards him. Natasha didn't fight him when he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She just buried her head in his chest and clenched his shirt. Her shoulders shook slightly as he felt the clot dampening.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and the young man tightened his embrace. A light pang clenched his chest at the sight. He didn't know if it was really just his friendship or something stronger like Bobbi had suggested, but he put it aside and focused on holding her. Now was too early to talk about feelings, hers or his and he was okay with that. He'd wait until she was ready. Till then, this night was the last she'd spend alone.


End file.
